First Impressions
by SuperSockMonkey
Summary: A short and sweet one-shot about the first time L and Watari meet, taking place at Wammy's Home. Feel the feels of a beautiful friendship. All ages can read. Enjoy!


**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_WOW, it's been forever since I've written anything worth while… Well, guys, this was made for a challenge, and I saw that as a responsibility to do HAVE to do something constructive. This is a one shot about a small encounter between L and Watari involving the first time they meet. Enjoy, my friends!_

_***Note, this is ALSO posted on my deviantART account [TheNintendoFanGirl], so I did not steal this._

_***Also note, that I have nothing to do with the Death Note Series. This is pure fan-made._

_-Enjoy-_

_..._

First Impressions

Quillish Wammy walked briskly down the ornately decorated hallways of the Wammy Home. It was 9:00 P.M. at night, and quite dark. There was an aged, anxiety knitted on his furrowed brow. It was time to meet the new arrival. On his way, he had passed familiar painting after plaque, after flower pot, after antique; a gross collection of refined items of taste. At the top of the main staircase landing, was a grand yet subtle portrait of himself with a small plaque beneath. As many times as he had seen it before, something inside of him made him stop. He adjusted his glasses and curiously studied the lettering of the plaque as if it seemed it had redefined itself as something completely different.

"Headmaster and Founder of Wammy's House"

The staff had stumbled through his door, earlier that day, informing him of an arrival of another guest they had tracked down and brought here. Another kid wonder. What Quillish thought was peculiar, was that almost immediately after the word of his arrival, they had informed him that they had confined him to the library- the room they had first lead him to. Surely he was just a boy, nothing short of innocent mind and intent.

In the soft silence of the sleepy mansion, Wammy could hear the relaxing thrash of rain on the roof. The relentless downpour of water was ominously followed by a clash of distant thunder. The old an sighed and continued down the dimmed corridor until he came to the thick mahogany doors of the library. With a hesitant shove, the doors gave a hearty creak and the old man entered the room. The library was cloaked in darkness. Wammy first noticed the curtains to the grand window were drawn, and sheets of rain poured slyly down the exterior in streams. In the center of the room, there would have been a small cluster of cushioned chairs and loveseats- would have been. Instead, there were about ten books, all open, all half-read, all in a circle around a single armchair. Wammy's gaze expected to see someone there, but it was empty- the library seemed abandoned. He mostly shut the door behind him.

"You'll ruin your eyes if you read in the dark." Wammy said promptly to the library. He had to still be here. "Tell me. Why do you hide in the dark?" Wammy barely heard the small whimper of announcement before finding himself being turned upside-down and on his back on the cold wood floor. Whatever happened just then, it knocked the wind out of his lungs. He clutched his hip, shut his eyes in response to its tenderness, and began to sit up.

"Stay down," a small voice sternly addressed him from an unknown direction. Wammy disregarded the words and planted his foot to take a knee. Wammy barely caught a glimpse of the boy before getting a face full of bare foot. This knocked him over once more.

"I said, stay down." The boy repeated. The boy couldn't have been more than six.

"You're afraid," Wammy coughed, "of an old man. Quite interesting. I daresay you have excellent talent in the art of capoeira, but not quite proficiently fluent." Wammy decided to stay on the floor. "I understand you want the advantage over me, the enemy, which I assure you I am very much the opposite. You high while me on the ground. But why the dark?" The boy studied him for a moment with wide, emotionless eyes.

"So I can work without the enemy's rendition as to where, or who I am. There are a good thirty-seven… thirty-nine hiding places to my advantage, and I daresay you've been in this room less than twelve times in the past three months. My upper hand. Your mistake to have your goons put me in such an opportune location. I knew I was being watched at the orphanage. It was only a matter of time before I found out who they were and when they would take me. And you're on the floor, so I win." The boy said.

"And I'm also not dead. We're at a draw, thank you." Wammy smiled simply, seeing the boy raise an eyebrow. "I am not your enemy, but I think you don't want to believe that."

"I don't have to believe in anything. Everything is factual. I don't have any friends. I don't have them for a reason." The boy said slightly distantly, but still stone-cold. "When people see me, they see a freak. Not a potential compatible playmate."

"I have employees who are always on the watch for people like you. They inform me that the kids at the orphanage bullied you. They hurt you. You figure if you hurt them back, they won't bother you." Wammy said.

"Do not talk of the orphanage to me. It was a great disappointment." He paused. "You make a lot of conclusions. A lot of correct ones. You are certainly superior to your employees. You may stand, now I know you will not hurt me." The boy meandered over to the armchair and perched himself into a queer ball and peered over his knees at the many books.

"You like to read. That's good of you."

"I like to collect data. The matter of shape in which I collect is irrelevant to my likings."

"Here at Wammy's Home, we'll allow you to do just that, and accelerate into something special. Something the world needs. I'm quite confident you can be great if you try." The boy said nothing. Wammy wandered to the shelves of books. ""_Ender's Game_, Arthur Conan Doyle, and a book of the great Alexander who slept in a different room every night with a knife and a copy of the _Illiad_ under his pillow. These are among the favorites of the children here, and I see a little bit of you in each of them."

"I am the headmaster and the only one who understands you. I can make the children and the world respect you, and look upon you as something new and great."

"I don't want anyone to know who I am. My name belongs to me, and only me."

"I know, young Lawliet. Yes, my informants learned your name." The boy flinched at his name.

"Do not speak my name aloud." Wammy remembered it was the only thing Lawliet had when he arrived at the orphanage as an even younger child. The old man continued despite Lawliet's comment.

"Then I should call you 'L'. The world won't have to know, but it needs change. It needs a hero. There is greatness in you. Can I have your hand in an understanding an agreement?" The boy stared at the books. Wammy didn't know if he was reading any more. Lightning cut the darkness of the sky outside and thunder shook the room.

"Yes." He said, and slowly raised his head from his knees to stare out the window blankly. Wammy approached the side of the chair.

"May I have your hand in friendship?"

"No." Somehow, Wammy felt that "no" meant "not yet." He smiled.

"Then may I offer you this?" Wammy pulled giant lollipop from the inside of his coat pocket. Lawliet's eye caught the glint off of a brilliant swirly rainbow lollipop. Like a starving man without food, he ripped it from his hands, ravaged the wrapper from the confection, and shoved the top of the sucker into his mouth. There was a glimmer of content and pure joy in his eyes as he curled up tighter like a baby on a binky. Wammy chuckled. It was actually really cute. In that moment, the old man knew he would love the boy Lawliet, and be by his side until the end. Exactly what end, he did not know- but it did not matter.

Wammy placed his hand on the boy's thin shoulder for a wordless moment. Then he turned and walked to the door, letting the stream of light from the cracked entrance guide his way through the darkness.

"Good night, Mr. Quillish Wammy." The boy said, interrupting the silence and the raindrops.

"Good night, young master L." He left the room and shut the door behind him, figuring L would want to be left in the library alone now. Then it dawned on him. He realized he had not told the boy his name.


End file.
